


Everything I am

by TheLastSaskDragonRider



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bipolar Sherlock Holmes, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 08:28:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24966727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLastSaskDragonRider/pseuds/TheLastSaskDragonRider
Summary: The sound of the pills rattles like thunder as he thinks... and thinks...
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 35





	Everything I am

**Author's Note:**

> Today is one of those days that I can feel depression rising up on me so I'm posting this little thing that I wrote like a year ago. Enjoy.

Sherlock sits in his chair, rolling the bottle back and forth thoughtfully in his palms. The sound of the pills rattles like thunder as he thinks... and thinks...

John comes downstairs from putting Rosie down for her afternoon nap. He gives Sherlock a nod as he settles down in his chair across from Sherlock, flicking out today’s newspaper.

Sherlock stares at the top of John’s head peaking over the top of the newspaper, his dark blue eyes flicking back and forth as he reads about mundane events happening in the cesspool that is London.

It had all started on an evening a couple of weeks ago on one of Sherlock’s Danger Nights. John and Rosie had moved back to Baker Street about seven months ago and Sherlock and John had started a romantic relationship soon after that, but this had been the first Danger Night since then and Sherlock was trying his best not to claw down the flat and the thoughts are building and building and he just wants a fix, a case, a cigarette, and everything is loud and he can not stop everything in head and it’s like there a whole orchestra in the room with him and—

“Sherlock? Love?”

Sherlock uncurled himself from his position on the couch and looks up at John who’s sitting by his hip leaning over him with the look of the purest love that Sherlock had ever received and any moment he’s going to loose it and he doesn’t want to loose John or Rosie. And—

This time, Sherlock’s racing thoughts were cut off by John’s lips pressing against his and suddenly his mind is calm, allowing Sherlock to reach up and respond to John’s kiss.

John broke it off first and smiled down at Sherlock. “There you are,” he said fondly, brushing Sherlock’s curls back. “Getting lost in that great big mind of yours? Solving all the unsolved mysteries in the United Kingdom?”

He sat up on the couch and glanced around the room, frowning. Rosie had just been there on the play mat and he was sure that John had put a fresh cup of tea on the table in front of him. A quick glance outside to the window confirms that he had been wrapped up in his head for longer than he thought. He took a deep breath and tried to push away the tidal wave of thoughts and deductions that were still trying to drown him. “Most of them are threes and fours at best, John,” Sherlock said with a shrug in reference to John’s statement. “Hardly worth my time.”

“Of course they are,” John chuckled and kissed Sherlock’s hand. His smile drops slightly and he said in a serious tone, “Sherlock there’s something I need to ask you.” The black feelings hit him again and it must have also shown on his face because John hurried to say, “No, Sherlock. Everything’s fine. It’s a danger night, maybe I should’ve waited for this conversation...”

“Tell me. Tell me. Tell me,” Sherlock demanded, knowing that if he didn’t know now, his mind would tear everything apart and now that Rosie was in Baker Street, he would never consider resorting to shooting the walls or drugs. He needed to know _now_ before he drowned and suddenly it felt like he’s choking and he must be panicking but nothing made sense and—

“Sherlock? Look at me.”

His thoughts jerked to a stop when John spoke up. Sherlock raised his eyes again and takes a couple of deep breaths. “Sorry, John,” he said. “What was it you were going to say?”

John gently stroked Sherlock’s high cheekbones. “Don’t panic or assume until I finish talking, okay?” he said gently. “These dark moods of yours when you don’t have a case, the highs you have when you’re on a case, feeling lethargic and then having too much energy, being a mad berk and then being suicidal—no, you were,” he said as Sherlock tried to interject. “I know you aren’t now or at St Bart’s, but you were suicidal at points in your life. I know you, Sherlock Holmes. Because I love you, I want you to answer this question honestly: Have you ever been evaluated for depression?”

Sherlock stiffened slightly. “John, all doctors are idiots and I do not wan-- need an idiot to try to tell me that I am... that I am a malfunction... that I am a freak.”

“I said depression, Sherlock, not malfunction, not a freak,” John said gently. “I’ve been thinking about it and I think that you have bipolar disorder. You have periods of intense energy followed by depression and lethargy. You go without eating and sleeping and it worries me, Sherlock.”

“Why do you bring this up now?” Sherlock demanded. “I have always done these things, but you only bring it up now. Why?”

“I’ve always thought this Sherlock, I’ve always been worried about you. When I thought that... when you... that whole Reichenbach situation happened and I thought maybe it was undiagnosed depression drove you to suicide. When you came back... I was relieved that your suicide was because I was a bad doctor and flatmate who couldn’t see depression when it was right under my nose, but the more I think about it, I do think that you have undiagnosed depression. We’re finally in a place where I can address it with you. And if you decided to throw a fit about it, I figure that can lead to some great make up sex.”

That makes both of them giggle and when they calm down, Sherlock tries to speak, having to swallow a couple of times before he was able to answer. “If... if you think that I... what should I do?”

That conversation lead to Sherlock going to a specialist (much to Sherlock’s displeasure, John refused to evaluate him and forced him to go to a different doctor) and receiving a prescription of antidepressants which Sherlock is rolling in his hands, unable to decide if he wants to take the antidepressants. If he takes this, it’s admitting something dark and unnamed until this moment. _Makes it too real._

Finally John notices Sherlock staring at him. He raises his eyebrow. “It’s getting creepy. The staring I mean.”

Sherlock frowns and looks down at the bottle in his hand instead. “What do these do anyways?”

“Didn’t your doctor tell you everything?” he asks.

Sherlock waves his hand in dismissal. “Doctors are boring. Except for you.”

“Considered me flattered,” John says. He sets down the newspaper and leans forward in his chair. “What do you want to know?”

“Data.”

John gave him a reassuring smile in understanding. “Your doctor started you on Carbamazepine. It’s a very common and effective prescription for bipolar disorder. The antidepressants will help stabilize your mood,” he explains. Sherlock nods, but still doesn’t move to open the bottle. John slips off his chair and kneels in front of Sherlock, covering his hands with his own. “The Carbamazepine will help, but the medicine won’t help everything so you will have to work at it. Eating, sleeping, breathing... maybe a bit of sex will help.” John’s lips twitch at his joke hopefully but Sherlock doesn’t reply so John keeps on going. “But this is your choice. I want to make that very clear. If you don’t want to take the medicine, it’s fine... You are your own person and nothing is flawed, malfunctioned or wrong with you.”

“What do you want?”

It takes John a moment to find an answer and his answer comes out slow and steady when he replies, “I want you to be happy and I think the antidepressants will help.”

He looks up at Sherlock with his dark blue eyes and Sherlock knows that John can read everything in him, that there’s no hidden motivation in his heart, and that John just wishes the best for him. Quite honestly, it terrifies him. It’s like a rush from drugs or the high after a case, but it’s even better than that.

If that was the feeling of happiness, Sherlock thinks that he could try to do it for John.

But there’s one more thing that’s bothering Sherlock.

“John. Since we met, you have seen me in both the manic and depressive periods and accepted everything that I am. But what if the depression and the bipolar disorder is what the me that you know is, then without the depression, I could be a different person. If I wasn’t everything I... If I am not everything you think I am... would... would you still love me?”

John’s face softens and he breaks out into an honest smile. “I love everything you were, everything you are and everything you will be,” he promises and he kisses the top of Sherlock’s head as he stands up, returning to his seat across from Sherlock.

Sherlock takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He imagines his future: John and Rosie in Baker Street, then he and John retire to the Sussex cottage with bees and each other. Every moment, he wants happiness. He can try for them.

So he opens his eyes and pops the lid off of the bottle. Carefully he shakes out a pill and places it in his mouth. He swallows it dry and takes a moment to breathe.

Of course, he doesn’t suddenly feel the dark moods disappear forever or all the depression release its claws on him, but John’s smile is enough to make it feel worth it.

Shakily, Sherlock reaches out and immediately John responds, extending his own hand. They bridge the gap between their chairs and hold onto each other. Sherlock finally gives John a sincere smile and nods. “I love you too, John.”

**Author's Note:**

> I also have two other short chapters that fall under this title, I'm not sure if/when I'll post them. Subscribe in case I decide to post them.


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